


The Righteous Blood Eggpire

by patchpuppe



Series: Aurora Borealis [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anarchist Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ancestors, Antarctic Empire, Antarctica, BAMF Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Butlers, Dead Wilbur Soot, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Eggpire, Emotional Manipulation, Family History, Gen, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Madness, Mental Breakdown, Mentioned Darryl Noveschosch, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Parental Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Adopts Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sir Billiam - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Technoblade & Phil Watson Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Teleportation, ranbutler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchpuppe/pseuds/patchpuppe
Summary: Technoblade joins the Eggpire. Imperialism is in his blood, after all.Intervention comes in the form of Philza.[inspired by Techno's Feb 13th stream]
Relationships: Darryl Noveschosch & Technoblade, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Aurora Borealis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179878
Comments: 29
Kudos: 378





	1. Chapter 1

“Do I know you?” The egg asks. “You look familiar.”

Techno swallows back a lump in his throat. After all these years, the egg remembers him. Or rather, it remembers Sir Billiam. He did feed it so well, after all. It likely had the best meals of its life while it lived under his ancestor’s care, when his mansion stood on his very ground centuries ago.

Techno comes from a long line of piglins, all named Billiam. Sir Billiam was the furthest back his roots could be traced: an affluent but puny little man that couldn’t even do his own dirty work, instead relying on a butler to catch prey for the egg. He lived a long life and stayed devoted to the egg until his dying breath. The Billiam that followed ruled the skies. He headed armies which invaded island after island, stealing riches and slitting throats. It only took a few years of warfare till he had conquered every creature in his world, including a mystical black dragon on which he soared through the skies. However, battle became boring and he chose to spend his remaining days farming potatoes, which he also excelled in. The following Billiam was a ruthless gladiator with tactics to be feared. He never backed out of a fight and could make opponents tremble with a single pointed glare. Another Billiam down the line chose to conquer the Earth- first taking the Antarctic, then the rest of the globe. The empire he established was short-lived- ending with his power being forcefully and unfairly stripped from him- but legendary. Folk songs are still sung about him today. And Technoblade… 

…he doesn’t know if he’s living up to the family name. 

He too is named Billiam and he too is fierce and powerful, but that’s as far as the similarities go. At a young age, he rejected his inheritance and left the Antarctic Empire in search of something more. He saw how power had been misused to unjustly punish his predecessor. Technically there was no rule stating he _couldn’t_ take over the world and a part of Techno still feels bitter about the treatment his ancestor received. It was his family’s history that sent him down the route of anarchism and towards a new land where he believed he could live in peace. 

How wrong he was about that. While Techno knows he might not be as rich or noble as his ancestors, he’s certainly made a mark on the DreamSMP. The crater he created in L’Manberg was achieved through violent bloodshed, sacrifice and unimaginable effort. The hole goes all the way down to bedrock. It is his legacy. A symbol of Technoblade’s power. And it can also easily be built over. Erased. Forgotten. All that trouble only to be an unremembered branch of his family tree.

Standing before the egg now, Techno has a feeling that he’s about to get into a lot more trouble than he ever was when L’Manberg stood. He can feel energy and warmth radiating from the large red egg. It vibrates at a high frequency he’s not sure Puffy, Bad or Ranboo can hear. 

_You look familiar._ Did he really look so similar to his ancestor Sir Billiam? Had nothing changed in the past few hundred years? Techno is not sure if the idea is comforting or not. On one hand, it felt good to have this physical connection to his ancestors. On the other, Sir Billiam was a snob.

Techno feels himself edge towards Ranboo. Despite his awkwardness, Ranboo is a comforting presence and someone he’s glad to have around. He is always very happy to accompany him on missions and even offers up expensive weapons and loot to him. He never hesitates to do it either. A part of Techno believes that if he demanded Ranboo hand over all of his armour and weapons, he would do it without a second thought.

Not like Techno would ever do that. He just thinks about it sometimes. The thought slips in there and pesters him for a while before eventually leaving and returning a few weeks later.

Techno looks at Ranboo nervously. If he tells him to run, will he do it? Follow the command as easily as any other he gives? 

Techno briefly wonders what Ranboo’s ancestors were like. If they would be proud of who he was: An amnesiac teenager with a habit of sleepwalking and an alignment to anarchy. Techno thinks that if _he_ were related to Ranboo, he would be very proud. He’s proud anyway.

“You know him.” The egg whispers. Its voice is ghostly, swimming among echoing cave sounds that make him shiver.

“Yeah, of course I know Ranboo.” Techno replies. He doesn’t miss how Bad’s eyes snap over to him excitedly. 

“You know him, Billiam.” 

He pauses for a moment. That name hasn’t been his since he was a young boy but… it makes his heart twinge. How odd.

Bad approaches Techno. Leaning down and putting a hand on his shoulder, he blurts out, “The egg is talking to you? What is it saying?”

Bad looks almost maniacal. All colour has been drained from his body, leaving him a ghostly white version of himself. The only colour on him comes from the red light emitting from the egg. It illuminates the left side of his face. He still seems to be in a fit shape and stands tall over even Ranboo. The egg was able to corrupt someone as strong as him, huh?

“It, uh,” Techno’s eyes flicker up to Ranboo, then back to the egg, “said to subscribe to Technoblade.”

Something flashes behind Bad’s eyes and he recoils slightly. While he’s shown no anger yet, Techno has picked up on the restrained irritation he’s been experiencing in reaction to their cluelessness about the egg. To be fair, it is quite a hard concept to understand. An underground egg which was growing vines and slowly infecting the DreamSMP? It sounds like something out of a fiction novel.

“I’m sure it did, Techno. I’m sure it did.” Slyness trickles into Bad’s tone, “Because the egg wants you to succeed. The egg wants to _help_ you succeed. You give the egg a little bit of love and it can give you all the power you need for world domination.”

“No offence to the egg or anything but I don’t think I need its help for any of that stuff- I’m doing pretty good on my own-”

“But imagine how different things would be with the egg on your side.” Bad puts his hands on Techno’s shoulder and leans down so they could look each other in the eye. “Techno, the Eggpire is calling your name.”

Egg..pire?

As he had felt the egg project its voice into his mind, he now feels it pushing images into his head. Images of… him? No, no- his ancestor. Billiam conquering the Antarctic, stabbing his flag into the snowy surface of the tallest mountain. Billiam soaring through the skies in an aeroplane, wearing a pair of aviator goggles and a wide grin. Billiam looking down upon the world he owned, chest swelling with pride. More flashing snapshots burst into his mind. Seeing his ancestor, knowing they look so similar with the same pointed ears and pink hair and piercing gaze… it fills Techno with a golden feeling of pride. There is also an accompanying need the colour of deep dark red.

“You can have this again. An empire.”

The red feeling of need spreads into Techno quickly, like a poison diluting into a chalice of water. He feels it entering his veins and coursing through his body. The egg can give him the connection to his ancestors he never had. They had all created such wonderful things- what had he done except destroy and marginally inconvenience?

“An empire?” Techno says between tight breaths. Ranboo is staring at him with wide eyes. He knows that the teenager will follow him to the end of the world, listening to his every order. It’s ancestral instinct, after all.

“What do you say, Technoblade?” Bad’s grin is devious. His forked tail coils and curls around the blood vines surrounding them. He holds one big hand out to Techno. “Does the egg have your love?”

Techno’s eyes flicker towards the egg. Red light pulsates from it. Is it just his imagination or have more vines grown since his arrival? 

“Love is a big commitment. Let’s say… the egg has my loyalty.” Undying, ancestral loyalty.

Bad shakes his hand heartily. “That’s good enough!” 


	2. Chapter 2

Intervention comes in the form of Philza. 

He stands at the bottom of the stairs with a firm grip on his sword’s hilt. His fear-filled blue eyes shake on Technoblade, his greatest friend, his comrade who lovingly promised him the world. There are two of them in the grand throne room, but a third presence can be felt. Something envious and evil and dark, dark red.

“Phil.” Techno lights up like a bulb when he sees the man. He stands from his throne, his long red cape flurrying out behind him. Phil takes a step back. When had Techno decided to rebrand to red? His long, flowing hair is red, as is his cape, his trousers and the jewels in his shining crown. Silently, he descends the stairs to Phil with his arms outstretched warmly. As longtime friends, the two of them are always usually welcoming of hugs. But now, Phil evades his touch, taking another step back.

“Techno.” He says lowly, “What’s going on here?”

He’d left the DreamSMP for one week. _One week_ to work on his hardcore world and it seemed all hell had broken free in his absence. When he transported himself into the DreamSMP, holding his hands out and watching the particles arrange into his human form, he immediately noticed the ruined state of the Antarctic Anarchist Commune. The animals were starving, the crops had died and Techno and Ranboo were nowhere to be found. Without a second thought, he sprinted to where L’Manberg once stood, where he found the land encompassed by red tendrils. The spire of a white palace just barely poked out of the top of the red mass. Phil’s instincts were right when he suspected his boys had something to do with this.

Techno looks delighted with himself. He keeps his arms limply spread out as he turns in a circle, showing off his new outfit. 

“The egg gave me a makeover, what do you think?” With long, red fingernails he scratches at the brown fuzz growing on his cheeks. Phil blinks. Techno was usually so rigorous with keeping his facial hair trimmed. 

He looks around the grand throne room and lets out a shaky breath. The architecture is unmistakably a replica of the Antarctic Empire’s Port-aux-Francais palace. Though it had been decades since the empire had fallen, Phil would never forget the majesty of his old home. The similarities are unbelievable. Phil steps towards a window and runs his finger around the outline. The intricate engravings feel the same as the ones he traced hundreds of times in his old bedroom. He would stand at that tall bedroom window for hours at a time, admiring the snowy landscape that he had conquered. He and Techno’s predecessor.

His head snaps back to Techno and he stares at him critically. “Techno…”

“Yes?” He replies brightly, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re dwelling on the past.”

That makes him flinch. A crack in the facade of swagger and power. But Techno quickly gathers himself and the sly smile returns to his face. 

“I’m finally livin’ up to the family name. It’s been too long since I felt so connected to my ancestors.”

Memory takes hold of Phil and pushes him into the past. He almost feels like he’s falling through time, into a younger body, a wilder mind, a stronger heart.

_The library is the warmest room in the palace. Maybe not heat-wise, but it’s certainly where Phil feels the warmest. It’s cosy. The dark wood and smell of old parchment create a calming atmosphere. The fire in the woodstove burns bright and makes small, happy popping noises._

_Phil looks across the couch to his friend. In the times where they aren’t plotting world domination, they gather here to read silently in each other’s company. His friend is a quiet man. Phil enjoys feeling his silent presence._

_“What are you reading?”_

_He moves his gaze from the old brown book to the crackling orange fire. It illuminates his face, filling his gaunt features in with gentle light. “My family history.”_

_Phil raises his eyebrows, and shifts on the worn-out couch to look at the open book. It’s a detailed family tree complete with illustrations. All the men are named Billiam and, as Phil flips the pages, he finds detailed writings about their lives. Stories of dragon-taming, ancient wealth and bloodlust. Stories of betrayal, envy and hubris. Stories that were intense and exciting and almost too incredible to be true, but all had the same ending of Billiam slipping away into the afterlife._

_“Wow.” Phil says with a long whistle, “This is incredible… Billiam.”_

_His friend rolls his eyes, “Don’t call me that. Too formal.”_

_“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Billiam of the Antarctic Empire.”_

_“Nope, nope, stop.”_

_Throwing his head back, Phil cackles. “Billiam! Oh, Billiam! And you’ll have to name your kid that to keep the tradition going.”_

_The man sitting beside him makes a nervous noise. “Yeah, poor him. How is he going to live up to our legacy?”_

  
_He saunters over to one of the library windows. Phil follows. Big chunks of fluffy white snow are drifting down from the dark sky. It’s beautiful._

_“We’ve created something amazing, Phil. The legend of the Antarctic Empire will live for a thousand years.” A peaceful smile graces his lips, “I want my successor to live free of the pressures I feel to live up to my family history. He will forge his own path, have his own name and beliefs, and chase after dreams he will decide on himself. I never want him to think that his ancestors want anything more for him than a life full of happiness and love.”_

Phil hasn’t noticed it until now, but Techno does look remarkably like his predecessor. He’s finally grown into the shoes of his ancestors. With sharp, thin eyes, a pointed nose and a stern jaw. He’s grown out of the childish boy Phil nurtured alongside his own children. But where Techno’s predecessor was calculating, Techno is irrational. His eyes- the same eyes Phil remembers being filled with happiness as they conquered the world- are filled with madness. 

“He never wanted this for you.” Phil can feel the lump in his throat, “Your predecessor. He would be heartbroken.”

Techno clutches his red trident. “My ancestors are proud of me.”

“Proud of this- this manic fantasy of power? Techno, what happened? I thought you were satisfied with our life in the commune.” He steps forward to Techno slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, “Come on, end this and we can go home. Your hounds miss you, I bet Steve does too.”

“Steve is dead.” Coldly, Techno turns away from Phil and pulls his cape tighter around him. “He was resistant to the egg. He had to be put down.” 

_Are you going to put me down too?_ Phil thinks bitterly. He couldn’t say it out loud, though. Techno has to be treated delicately.

Most people don’t know this, but the Blood God is only nineteen years old. Nineteen and holding the weight of thousands of years of ancestral pressures on his shoulders. Phil could cry just thinking about it. He’s just a kid. Just a child corrupted by the egg’s evil influence.

“I’m sorry, Tech.” His whispers echo through the empty throne room. “Come on, let me take you home. We’ll find Ranboo on the way and- and we can sit and we can talk about this. About how you feel. I mean, what do you even do around here all day? Sit around and reflect on an empty conquering of the SMP? Come on, come home to me. I’ll make us all tea and we can bundle up in bed. I’ll read you a story as you fall asleep.” His hands go to his forearms and he rubs them. As he speaks, a puff of white air escapes his mouth. “It’s so cold here, Tech. I know you don’t like the cold.”

A whimpering cry echoes through the tall throne room. Phil’s heart breaks and he approaches Techno, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him around. But Techno looks just as confused as he is. His dry eyes dart towards the throne. Phil follows his nervous gaze up the porcelain white stairs to the white throne which is decorated with white pearls. Does everything here have to be white? It’s as if the egg has sucked all the life and colour out of everything in its confines, sparing only Technoblade. 

The whiteness of everything makes the room look so flat. It’s hard to find details. It’s hard to notice the shaking boy kneeling by the throne. When Phil does, a gasp escapes him.

“Ranboo?” He rushes up the steps to the throne, stumbling slightly, and crashes down by the boy, his armour clattering down against the cold marble floor. 

All colour has been drained of Ranboo, turning him as white as snow. He throws himself into Phil’s arms and starts to sob. “I don’t- I don’t know what happened- I can’t- he- he-”

“Shhhh, I got you, I got you.” He cradles the back of his head into his shoulder. Poor Ranboo. He frantically stutters that he wants to go home. Why was he kneeling? Why hadn’t he immediately ran to Phil when he entered the throne room. His eyes fall back onto Techno uneasily.

Ranboo doesn’t let go, even when Phil stands and walks back down the stairs to Techno. Phil is happy to keep holding his hands. He keeps one of his ruined black wings around Ranboo's back, shielding him. Even if an army of a thousand men was sprung on him now, he knows he’ll fight them off without letting go of Ranboo. 

“Techno,” He growls, tone dripping with unrestrained fury, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Techno might be his best friend, he might be the successor of his oldest comrade, but no one messes with Phil’s kids. No one makes them tremble at the foot of a throne. No one makes them cry.

“You might recall my ancestor Sir Billiam had a butler, Phil.” Techno says calmly, “The egg felt Ranboo was a perfect match for him.” The scary part is that Techno speaks with such certainty. He doesn’t understand how deranged this is. Phil shakes with fury. It’s difficult to remember that Techno is a victim, too. Corrupted by the pressures his ancestors placed on him, which the egg has taken advantage of. It’s wriggled a red tendril into his brain, poisoning his thoughts. Techno would never let harm come to Ranboo, never mind be the one _causing_ the harm. 

“You can’t just- pluck out your favourite parts of history and recreate them. Your predecessor wanted you to forge your own path in life.” Phil knows how weepy he sounds. His memories of Techno’s predecessor are all tinged with sadness.

He storms up to Phil, eyes filled with fury and, spit flying from his maw, he snarls, “What would you know about my predecessor?” 

“I was his best friend!” He screams back, pulling Ranboo to his chest. He braces for impact, so certain that Techno will pounce and rip them to shreds, but it doesn’t come. He stops inches away from them with a wide-eyed look. 

“You- what?”

Phil reaches a hand out to Techno and runs it across his trembling cheek. He remembers wiping blood and plane oil from the same face in another lifetime. 

_“We did it, Phil. The world is ours.”_

You can imagine his heartache when, all these years later, Techno professed, “For you, Phil, the world.” 

A hot tear escapes his eye. His mouth trembles as he explains, “As your predecessor built the Antarctic Empire, I was at his side. As he plotted and schemed, I was with him. When he was prosecuted, I went down with him. Even as the Empire collapsed around us, I…” memory once again grips Phil by the shoulders, pushing him back in time, “…stood with him proudly…”

_“Phil, Phil.” The panicked voice breaks him from his sleep. He’s standing at the side of his bed, armed and ready for battle._

_“B-Billiam?”_

_Phil can hear an approaching army. Their flaming torches are so bright that the light reaches all the way up to Phil’s tower bedroom, illuminating the two of them in quivering orange. Phil stumbles out of bed and begins to gather supplies, but he is stopped._

_“What are you doing?”He hisses, “There’s no time to dilly dally, I need to prepare for battle.”_

_“Phil, we’re not going into battle.”_

_Phil watches as he walks over to the bedroom window. Anxious fingers dance around the frame, feeling the intricately carved patterns in the marble. Dark purple bags hang underneath his eyes. He’s looking less youthful nowadays. Phil moves to his side and looks down at the snowy landscape. It’s usually so quiet out here, but an angry army is marching through the snow to their home. It looks as if every faction in the world has turned against them._

_It always felt like the two of them against the world. And it always felt like they would win. But now they are tired, and now they are ageing, and victory seems unlikely._

_Phil leans his head against Billiam’s shoulder and lets out a shaky breath. This is it._

_Together they slowly climb up the winding tower stairs to the highest turret of the palace. Up here the wind is biting and fierce. Phil, still in his sleeping clothes, wishes so desperately to be in the cosy library._

_They tear down the blue flag of the Empire and each take hold of one of its corners. Phil shakes as they step up onto the battlements. The army is getting closer and closer, the flames of their torches becoming brighter and brighter. Phil’s heart beats fast. He never thought there would be a threat they couldn’t fight off together._

_“Remember The Saint-Malo Trails?” Phil struggled to hear the words over the howling wind. “I said we were brothers forged in blood, that we’ve gone through everything together. I meant it. You’re my best friend, Phil.”_

_“Bill…”_

_“I’m goin’ to take the hit this time, okay? Don’t worry, I’m not scared. I only ask that you take care of my successor. Break the wretched curse set upon my family and keep him away from empire and war.” He doesn’t look at Phil as he speaks. His gaze is fixed on the horizon. Phil can recognise the signs of restraint in him._

_“How will I find him?”  
_

_“He will find you. Somehow, somewhere, maybe sometime in the future, you’ll find each other. Protect him, okay?” He turns to Phil and smiles wearily, “Now spread your wings and fly away from this mess.”_

_Phil can hear pounding on the palace doors. Soon the army will be inside their palace and the Antarctic Empire will be no more. Phil gives Billiam one last look before spreading his black wings out and taking flight. He lets go of his side of the flag, allowing it to fly freely in Billiam’s grasp. It looks so beautiful as it billows._

_Billiam raises the flag up to the sky victoriously. He cries “Long live the Empire!” and takes the plunge off the turret. The wind whips around him as he falls, the flag becoming tangled in his limbs._

_Phil turns away before he hits the ground. He can hear his heart thumping almost as loudly as the beating of his dark wings. Behind him, the palace crumbles. The armies chant madly that they’ve killed the Blood God, that they’ve ended the tyrant once and for all. It’s not true, but it hurts Phil’s heart._

_He knows that he’ll do anything to honour his friend’s final wish._

Phil feels tears on his cheeks, though he isn’t sure when he’d started to cry. When was the last time he wept openly like this? He doesn’t wipe his tears, he wants Techno to see them. To see how much he cares. 

“Your predecessor was my best friend. His final command as Emperor of the Antarctic Empire was that you would be protected from a life like his.” Phil rubbed Techno’s gaunt cheek with his thumb. “He felt so much pressure to live up to those who came before him. He was obsessive in his pursuit of victory. It destroyed him.”

Phil remembers how Billiam was in a constant state of sleep deprivation. _I just need to finish this thing, these plans need to be finalised_ \- he always used the same stupid excuses. He neglected to eat and drink, often collapsing from dehydration. He studied the victories of his predecessors obsessively, desperately trying to find ways to keep their family line as powerful as it always had been. Sometimes he would tear his hair out or cry out mournfully into the night, wishing for a moment of relief where the ghosts of his ancestors would stop their demands. Phil didn’t doubt that other predecessors felt the exact same. 

Phil supported Techno’s anarchism. He supported his withers and he supported the destruction of L’Manberg. But he could not support this. He’s on thin ice: one wrong move and he’ll be plunging through the ice into the chilling waters of obsession. 

“I-I don’t need to be obsessive. The egg grants me the power I need to do anything I like. I’ll win every time- I’ll make them proud.” Techno’s facade of strength is beginning to break. He pushes away Phil’s hand and stalks away. His shoulders heave.

Phil doesn’t know much about the egg, but he knows Techno and he knows his predecessor. “You’ll win every war you wage until there’s no one left to fight. You’ll claim the DreamSMP, then the Bad Lands, you’ll claim everything until you own the world. But what comes next? You’ll never be satisfied, Technoblade. That is the curse placed upon you by your ancestors.” 

Ranboo trembles in his arms. Phil strokes his white hair with shaking fingers, trying to calm him enough to slow his rapidly thumping heart. He wonders what it will take for Techno to give in and accept his protection.

“This isn’t you, Techno. The egg is taking advantage of you-”

“I asked for this, Phil.”

“-and your insecurities. You’re my best friend-”

“You don’t know me!”

“-I’m not going to let you become someone you don’t want to be.”

“This is who I want to be!” Techno spins back to him, his mouth snarling with saliva collecting at the edge of his lips. “This is who I was destined to be! My blood demands it!”

“I demand otherwise.”

Fuelled by exhilaration, Phil takes both of Ranboo’s hands in his own and says, “Ranboo, take me to the egg.”

“W-What?” The teenager stutters back. “I- teleport?”

“Don’t you dare.” Techno growls. Feet loud, he stomps over to them with one shaking finger outstretched, pointing directly at Ranboo. “You- don’t you dare, butler. You want me to take away your food again? Don’t test me- I’ll do it.”

When his finger comes dangerously close to Ranboo, he makes a frightened squeak and squeezes Phil’s hands tightly. All of a sudden, Phil feels as if he’s thrown an ender pearl. There’s the same sensation of being quickly hurdled through the air, his stomach turning as acid rises to his mouth, then all of a sudden it’s gone, along with Techno’s replica palace. 

Phil recognises where they are now. He’s been to the egg room only once before, but the atmosphere was instantly recognisable. The egg was already sending whispers into his mind. In the past, he’d spoken about not minding the egg, but his opinion has certainly changed since then. 

The egg room is a jungle of red vines. Experimentally, Phil reaches out to touch one but immediately retracts his hand after only a moment of contact. The egg’s vines were pleasantly warm and soft, welcoming like the Port-aux-Francais palace library. If he touched them for too long, Phil worries there would be a chance of him succumbing to the egg. This will make navigating the room extremely challenging. He eyes the red vines nervously. 

“Phil!” Techno’s roaring can be heard distantly. Phil and Ranboo both look up to the ceiling. Grey dust and shards of stone fall down from the little gaps in the vines. Ranboo whines and covers his face with his arms. 

Phil takes a moment to grip Ranboo’s arm and say, “Thank you, Ranboo. You’re doing brilliantly. Do you want to come with me to the egg?” 

“What are you going to do to it?” His white eyes peek out from above his forearm. Phil feels so devastated looking at what’s happened to him. He can only pray that freeing Ranboo from the egg’s spell would bring back his colour. 

“I’m going to kill it.” He admits it with a deep, shaking breath. “I’m going to kill it to free Techno from its influence.”

A shiver runs down Phil’s spine as the egg’s whisperings turn into hissing. Instinctively, he turns his head in the direction of the egg, looking past the jungle of vines, to the terrible thing.

As Techno’s roars of anger become louder, Phil whispers, “I’m going to kill you.”

Sword drawn, he raises his weapon and cuts down on the first vine of many with an angry grunt. They say the egg is indestructible? Just wait til Phil gets to it. He grins at the thought of stabbing his sword through the centre of the horrible red thing. He’ll free Ranboo, he’ll free Techno, just wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Having lived thousands of years, seen thousands of lifetimes blossom and then wither, one might think Phil’s memory would get mirky. It’s a fair thought- and not entirely incorrect- but Phil knows there are some things he will never forget. 

The birth of his son Wilbur, for example. The little squirming pink thing was silent only for a moment, taking in this new world with brown eyes, before opening his mouth and letting out a shrill cry. With his first breath, he had sung and with his last, he had tearily thanked his father. The piercing of a diamond sword into soft, wet organs was another thing he would never forget. That and the way Wilbur had slumped against him, heavy and lifeless. 

He won’t forget Tommy and Tubbo, his two little treasures. They were so adamant that Phil was their father that he’d reluctantly settled into the role. As Wilbur grew and wanted more independence, Phil didn't feel abandoned: there was no time to think about it with two little rascals running circles around him. 

The terror in Ranboo’s white eyes will not be easily forgotten, no matter how hard Phil tries. How his desperate fingers dug into his flesh, too terrified to let go. His hands were skeletal, with his knuckles sticking out prominently from the backs of his hands, and the white skin was wrapped around his bones tightly, all fat gone. His begging would stay echoing in his mind for years to come. 

His memories with Techno remain the most vivid. Maybe it’s because Techno is the only constant in his life. Since they found each other over a decade ago, their friendship has not wavered once. It took some time to accept that a six-year-old child was the successor of his close friend Emperor Billiam of the fallen Antarctic Empire, but, remembering the final wish of Billiam, he was quick to take Techno under his wing.

He remembers finding him like it was yesterday. Down in the egg room, the twisting red vines emit a humid heat. It seeps into his nostrils, making his head feel heavy and full. It’s the same as that fateful trip to the Nether when Phil finally found Billiam’s successor living among a piglin clan. 

_“Six gold for the boy,” Phil says, raising his voice as if that would somehow break the language barrier between him and the clan of piglins. He places the glittery bars of gold down on the trading table and watches anxiously as the clan members confer with each other. He doesn’t speak their language (which was comprised of grunts, whines and squeals) but understands that they’re arguing. Arguing over the little boy who peeks out at Phil from behind a woman’s brown skirt._

_The woman fiercely fights against the brute Phil was bartering with. She spits as she speaks, evoking anger from him. Looking at the rest of the clan, they appear restless to Phil. What side are they taking here?_

_For the millionth time since he arrived at the settlement, Phil peeks into his pouch. Some foolish part of him hopes that maybe if he checks again, he’ll somehow find extra gold he hadn’t seen before. He only has four ingots left and will need a few to distract other clans as he makes his way out of the nether. He could spare a few golden carrots…_

_The piglin woman makes an angry, final grunt and scoops up the child, holding him close to her chest. His humanoid features make him stand out like a sore thumb. Phil thought he was seeing things when he was passing through the settlement and caught glimpse of those familiar features. They held a childlike softness that he didn’t recognise, but his mind was able to make the connection between this child and his old friend Billiam._

_It’s taken him too long to find Billiam’s successor. He’s not leaving the Nether without him._

_With a lump forming in his throat, Phil apprehensively approaches the woman. She looks at him with wide white eyes and tightens her hold on the child. Phil has never seen a Piglin be so possessive over something that isn’t gold. She’s clearly appointed herself to be a mother to the child. Phil briefly wonders if she could possibly_ be _his biological mother, but disregards the thought. Billiam hadn’t recounted his childhood very often but Phil had gathered that the men in his line weren’t exactly born: they just- appeared. Reborn and anew. Exactly the same as their predecessor but without the memories of their past life._

_Looking at the child makes Phil feel weird. That is his best friend. He looks at Phil with curiosity._

_Phil forces himself to look away from the child, instead moving his gaze up to the mother. Tentatively, he holds out his remaining gold to her. Silence falls over the clan. Trading like this- so closely and personally- is unorthodox._

_“Take it,” Phil says, hoping she understands his pleading tone. “You can take it all.”_

_Her brow folds down into a frown and she tightens her hold on the child. Phil flinches. How is he going to communicate with her? Unlike the brute, she only cares about the wellbeing of the child._

_An idea comes to Phil. He settles the gold back on the trading table and, keeping his movements slow, reaches into the inside pocket of his green robe and blindly feels for his little leather book. He’s so familiar with the prized object that he knows exactly where it would be in his pocket. When it’s retrieved, he opens it up and smiles._

_Inside are all the little watercolour paintings he’s made over the years. Being immortal gives him lots of time to try new hobbies and he had spent several decades perfecting the art of painting. He flicks past paintings of Billiam and searches for the portion of the book where his kids had come into his life. Looking at the paintings of his little boys softens his heart. As he turns the book to show the woman, he smiles proudly, excited to talk about his kids._

_“These are my boys.” He says, knowing that she probably doesn’t understand. One by one, he points put his kids in their own individual portraits. “This is Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo.” He turns the page to show more images of his boys. The woman’s face softens and she reaches out to take the book. “Yeah- yeah, go ahead.”_

_With one hand, she holds the child. With the other, she slowly goes through the leather-bound book, taking in all of Phil’s paintings. Red floods to his cheeks when she turns to one of the newest pieces- an illustration of Tommy asleep on his chest. All of the scenes are taken from true things that happened to him. This one is from an impromptu family sleepover when Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo decided they wanted to sleep in Phil’s room. Phil remembers waking up in the middle of the night and feeling Tommy’s weight on his chest. He put a gentle hand on the toddler’s back before falling asleep with the tender image making him smile._

_The woman lingers on that image. Phil sees her eyes flicker down to the child, who also seems enthralled by the artwork._

_“This…” Her voice is shy, “you give this to him?”_

_Phil nods with verve. “Yes. Yes, I will.” Images of Billiam flash in his mind, breaking his heart. He puts his hands together pleadingly and says, “Please. I made a promise- a promise to a dear friend- that I would protect this child. Please.”_

_The woman’s gaze flickers back and forth between Phil and the child before she strides to the bartering table. The brute watches her with a perplexed frown. She places the book down on the bartering table, saying, “We take this too.”_

_Relief and joy floods into Phil’s being._

_“Yes! Yes, take it. Take it all.” He says through surprised laughter. The surrounding piglins oink in delight and rush forward to the bartering table to collect the gold. Phil stands still, waiting for them all to disperse so he can collect his purchase. His heart pounds excitedly in his chest._

_When all but the woman and brute have left, Phil approaches the bartering table again. On the other side of it stands the woman. She sits the child down on the surface and presses a tender kiss to his forehead. A few piggish noises pass between them before she picks up the book of paintings and takes a step away. This is Phil’s cue to step forward. He takes the child into his arms and feels something brighten his soul. Finally, he is on the route to fulfilling his best friend’s wish._

_As the woman and brute walk away from the bartering table, the brute tenderly takes her hand. She squeezes it tightly and they disappear into a tent together. Something twinges in Phil’s heart. He walks away from the clan settlement knowing that, whatever that feeling is, it isn’t as strong as the pride he feels._

The egg is a darker red than netherrack. There are cracks in the surface and, from those cracks, yellow light shines through. Not the warm, welcoming light emitted by glowstone- the egg’s light is blinding. Phil tries to glare at the evil thing, but the intense light diminishes it into a squint. In one hand he uses his sword to slash into the creeping red vines, creating a path to the egg, and the other hand has a clutch on Ranboo’s bony wrist. It would be easier to chop away the vines with two hands, but Phil’s never letting go of the teenager again. 

The furious roaring of Techno is a threat becoming increasingly prominent. Phil wants to believe that Techno would never hurt him but who knows how far he’s willing to go to preserve this twisted fantasy with the egg feeding ideas into his mind? Phil has to keep reminding himself that Techno is a victim. The egg is the real villain here. _Stab your sword into the dreaded thing and end it now_ , he tells himself. He powers on.

The closer he gets to the egg, the more suffocating the room gets. It makes him feel as if his head is packed full of warm cotton. Breathing quickly becomes a laborious task. A part of him wants to turn around to Ranboo and plead for him to teleport again, but he couldn’t put the kid through any more exhaustion. He’s suffered enough already. Phil hates himself for not being there for him in his time of need.

The egg’s voice startles Phil so greatly that all tiredness leaves his body. Suddenly he’s wide awake, mouth gaping and sword raised midair.

“Philza.” It rasps.

_Don’t let it into your mind_ , he tells himself. _You’re stronger than it._

Slowly and sly like the sprawling vines, the egg’s suggestions and ideas creep into his mind. It’s as if a tiny tendril is wriggling into his ear and planting a seed in his brain. Images blossom in his mind. He flinches and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for them to take over. Images of the Antarctic Empire at its height, a victorious fist curled up in a flag, a rickety aeroplane soaring over the oceans: all tinted with a red filter. 

“You can have this again.” The egg says, “Give me your love and you can have imperial glory again.” 

Gritting his teeth, Phil dispels the intrusions and brings his sword down harshly on a thick vine. As it splits, another wave washes over him.

It feels like being punched, seeing Wilbur again. He’s standing on the replica Port-aux-Francais palace balcony, gazing out at the ruins of L’Manberg wistfully. The edges of his eyes are smudged with red. He turns slightly and gives Phil a cheeky side-smile.

“So much for anarchy, ey?” He chuckles, “I’m proud of you, Dad. This empire will be more powerful than L’Manberg ever was.” 

Mouth agape, too dumbstruck for words, Phil clumsily reaches out and tries to touch his son. His hand falls through his forearm heavily, and he dissolves into red smoke. 

“You can have him again.” The egg’s voice is grinning, “Give me your love and you can have your son again.”

He coughs on the red smoke and fans it away from his face. When it finally clears, the scene has changed. Phil is lurching on the back of a stallion bounding down an old dirt path. Its hoofs pound against the earth in a steady rhythm. As the sun sets in the distance, it bleeds red into the canvas of the sky. It’s beautiful.

“Left in the dust!” 

Phil’s heart leaps when he hears Tommy passing him. The young boy- mounted on a speckled grey horse- darts past him. His golden hair looks almost bronze in the orange sunlight. Tubbo skitters past him too on a brown pony. Phil watches with wide, amazed eyes. They look… older. Like they’ve finally been given the chance to grow into those wide shoulders and big hands. 

He trots on after Tommy and Tubbo, still dumfounded by their maturity. The two boys race ahead further down the dirt path, laughing and whooping as they do, whereas a pair of older men stay behind. The ride their horses at a steady walking pace, one of them talking expressively with his hands and the other listening patiently. 

“-which is why I think it’s fair to state sand is _technically_ edible.” 

“Your conclusion relies heavily on that _technically_ , Wilbur.” 

Phil’s heart softens. He slows his steed down to match their pace and walks beside them. They turn to look at him at the exact same time, at the exact same speed. His two oldest boys, now men. Wilbur has crow’s feet cornering his brown eyes and grey strands of hair are illuminated by the dying sunlight. His mouth quirks up into a smile. On the other side of Wilbur is Techno. 

“You look like him.” The words fall out of his mouth as easily as his breaths. Techno’s pink hair is tied up into a messy twisted bun with his golden crown settled on his head like a halo. He looks at Phil from behind gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes hold the wisdom, knowledge and strength of a thousand years and a thousand lifetimes.

“Yeah?” Techno’s voice cracks, “I have you to thank for that, Phil.” 

He kicks the heel of his red boot to his steed and trots ahead of them, moving to the centre of the path. His back is broad and straight. He keeps his head up high. He looks like an emperor. He is an emperor. 

“He looks just like you,” Phil whispers underneath his breath. He can feel Billiam close by, in the wind’s gentle breeze and in the creaking of trees. In the trotting of hoofs and the crackling of fire. His friend never truly left him, because he was reborn into Technoblade: the successor to a long line of greatness, intellect and power. 

“You can have this.” Wilbur says, voice an octave lower than he remembers, “You can _keep_ this. Your boys. You can lower your sword, lower your shield and surrender yourself to love. Did you ever think you’d get the chance to watch us grow old like this?”

“I never thought I’d get the chance to see you boys grow up at all.” 

“Exactly. The egg has given us so much. We’ll ride back to the stables and the butler will have stew ready. Then you can tell us a story before bed. Just like old times. I’m so grateful, Phil.”

Phil’s blood turns cold. A shiver creeps up his back and his eyes shake on Wilbur. “What did you just say?” 

“I’m so grateful to be given this second chance at life. For Techno to achieve his full potential and stay on the road destiny chose for him. He is the most brilliant emperor.”

The world begins to dissolve around Phil. His fingers fall through the stallion’s reins and his legs fall around where the saddle once was. 

“No, no…” He reaches out for Wilbur but his hand falls through red mist, landing on something foreign. It’s warm… comforting… but when the mist clears, Phil jumps away with a gasp, wiping his hand against his trousers. He had been touching one of the egg’s red tendrils.

“You can have that future.” The egg says, “Give me your love and you can have a future with your family.”

The room shakes again and stones fall from the ceiling. Techno’s furious footsteps are sounding closer by the second. He roars Phil’s name, sounding angrier than he ever has in his life. Phil’s eyes dart around the room. Where is the egg? His sword feels heavy in his hands. He needs to kill it. How dare it use his kids against him? How dare it weaponise Wilbur?

“Phil.” Ranboo’s voice breaks him from his frenzied thoughts. “Don’t listen to it. Don’t get angry at it. Don’t let it in at all.” Ranboo’s pleading tone was like nails against a chalkboard to Phil. He squeezes the teenager’s hand tightly and nodded. 

“I think-” Ranboo’s voice is weak, “I think I can manage one more jump. One more jump to the egg. Then I’m out.” 

Phil frowns. He wants to check that Ranboo knows what he’s doing and the possible repercussions. He looks utterly exhausted. He reckons another jump will be enough to knock him out. But time is of the essence. So he nods and grips onto Ranboo tightly. 

This time teleportation doesn’t make him feel as nauseated. When they land, Phil stumbles to regain his footing and feels Ranboo’s weight fall against him. His eyelashes flutter as he promptly falls into an exhausted sleep. Phil carefully lies him down against a bundle of vines and is thankful to find the contact doesn’t have any adverse effects. 

The egg is right here. Being so close to it fills Phil with exhilaration. His blood boils and courses through his body at lightning speed. Up close, he can see every little pore and crack in the egg’s red surface. He hesitates to call it a shell. A shell implies that a creature is forming within the walls and that is a reality Phil is too tired to face. 

The egg is massive. It’s easy five times larger than it was the last time Phil saw it. Light shines through its pores, trying to blind him, but Phil looks past the bright golden rays. _Ignore its illusions, slice past its defences, don’t give in, save your boys_. 

“Philza.” The egg’s voice is like sandpaper, “This isn’t the solution you are looking for.”

_Ignore it, ignore it_ , he reminds himself. If the egg had managed to manipulate the steely Technoblade- one of the strongest people in the DreamSMP- then Phil is at great risk of succumbing. The only tactic he has is to drown out the egg’s telepathic murmurings with his loud thoughts.

As he climbs up a vertical vine, Phil thinks about the Antarctic Empire. He tries to summon the sounds of battle: the clashing of shields, the splat of blood against ground and the roars of warlords. As he hoists himself up the vine, finding grooves for his feet to fit into, he hears the thudding footsteps of an impending invasion, their angry fists banging at the door. The slicing edge of the wind as it whips around his shaking knuckles. And Billiam- his dearest friend. The man that had gained all of an immortal’s admiration in only a few short years together. 

Phil stands above the egg, panting harshly and sword clutched in his shaking hands. Here he is, ready to slay the beast. He doesn’t care if the egg is immune to sword slashes- he’ll break that immunity. He’ll kill the unkillable thing with his own two hands if he has to. Fiery hot anger pulsating through him, he raises his sword high.

“Not the solution.” The egg rasps, “This will do nothing to cure you of your misunderstandings, Philza.”

“Cure me?” Phil growled through gritted teeth, “Cure _me?_ You infect Ranboo and Techno with your red- you know what, no- I’m not arguing with an egg.”

And he plunges his diamond sword down into the egg. 

It’s softer than he expected. The sword dives in like a warm knife slicing through butter. Disturbingly, it reminds him of Wilbur. Golden light spills out from the piercing and turns Phil’s vision white. He loses his footing and feels himself falling. He falls slowly, limply, back to the ground. The image of Billiam free-falling from the palace flashes in his mind and disappears just as quickly as it appears. 

He lands on the stone ground with a grunt. As he waits for his vision to clear, he breathes heavily, laughing slightly, and says, “Ranboo! Ranboo, we did it. We can go home now, I’m gonna take you and Techno home.” The feeling of relief is as golden as the egg’s light. The death of the egg surely meant the end of its influence. Blindly, he reaches his hands out and fumbles to feel vines. They felt cold now and were smaller, shrivelled. Dead! Phil lets out a laugh and takes in a deep breath of air. It feels good.

Phil’s scrambling hands felt around further and froze when he found purchase on a boot. 

“Techno?” He whispers. His vision clears and he finds himself eye-to-eye with his friend. Phil feels a grin creep on his face and a relieved chuckle leaves his lips. “We can go home now.”

But Techno’s eyes are blank and bored. He crouches down onto his haunches and picks up a shard of the exploded egg. Turning the shard in his thin fingers, he says, “We are home, Phil.” 

Phil’s eyebrows quiver. What does he mean? The egg has been killed, its tendrils are shrivelling, the whiteness of the world seems to be seeping away too. His eyes flicker over to Ranboo, who is gaining some colour back. But nothing has changed with Techno. 

“Did you really think that I would rely on an _egg_ to achieve this?” His voice is low and dangerous. The shard of egg falls into his fist and Phil winces when he hears a crunch. “Did you really think that someone of _my_ heritage would rely on anyone but himself?” 

_No, no, no._ Phil’s mind races with thoughts. Techno was never under the egg’s control? He’d committed these atrocities himself? Phil’s heart sinks as he realises that Techno was the master manipulator here all along. Now that Phil thinks about it: what had the egg done except keep Ranboo pliant and protect the palace with its vines? He scrambles back towards Ranboo. All of this was the product of Techno’s delusions, there was nothing else to it. The egg was a red herring. He’s trapped down here. Nowhere to go. 

Techno strides towards him, face like a brewing storm. He snatches Phil up by his collar and brings their faces together. His teeth are bared, snarling, with drool dripping from his pointed canines. It’s hard to see the resemblance between the little piglin child Phil rescued all those years ago and the animal poised for attack now. 

Phil takes a deep breath and keeps his gaze steady on Techno. “What do you want?”

Techno’s red eyes are brimmed with tears as he demands, “Tell me about my predecessor. Tell me about Billiam.”

Phil doesn’t know if it’s his damaged eyes, but he can see remnants of childhood in Techno. He reaches out and shakily holds his cheek. There’s still a tiny bit of fat to hold onto. And his ears are still so small. His eyes are filled with childish rage- the most dangerous type- that are ignited with confusion when Phil touches him.

“I’ll tell you everything.” Phil says, “But I have conditions.”

“Conditions? You’re in no such position to be receiving my-” Techno pauses, taking a sharp breath in through his nose. Phil recognises that look of frustration. Despite how things look, he’s confident that he has the upper hand. Techno can’t touch him. 

“Your conditions will be met.” He says, voice dripping with bitterness. A tear dribbles down his cheek and Phil wipes it. He does not fear being bitten by the sharp gleaming teeth. Instead, his mind is bursting with memories that long to be free. Memories of a snowy white landscape, a billowing blue flag and a friendship that broke the boundaries of life and death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where it becomes obvious that I know nothing about how the egg works.. I am sorry !

**Author's Note:**

> please leave constrictive criticism, i'd really appreciate any advice to improve my writing.
> 
> waiting for the next chapter? go check out my other dream smp fics :]
> 
> let's be friends on [twitter](https://twitter.com/patchpuppe). i post writing sneak peeks there!


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